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“So where you from?” you ask, raising the surprisingly cold beer to your lips ((this must’ve been one of the last places hit by the virus)).
“Lockport, it’s—”
“New York,” you laugh, “Yeah, I’ve been there, I was visiting… a friend.”
The man across from you raised sardonic eyebrows. A part of you wondered how someone pulls off sardonic eyebrows – but this man did, and quite well, too. And then a smaller part of whispers that Sammy would have been able to. You quickly push that little voice away as the other man opens his mouth.
“No one just visits Lockport,” he says. “It’s one of those places that sucks you in and you get stuck and you can never leave again.”
“Yeah, about that,” you start and decide to just go for the truth, “some backwater demi-god was trapping people within the county limits. He used some hoodoo so that if anyone ever wanted to leave, they would either change their minds at the last second or something would happen to their car. He would feed off the elderly.”
“A demi-god? Really?”
“If it makes you feel any better the whole reason for the zombies is the Horseman Pestilence.”
A heavy silence preceded Lockport’s, “You’re not lying are you?”
“No,” you looked down at your beer, then around the little gas station you and Lockport here had been trapped in.
Luckily for the two of you, there hadn't been many people left in town so the zombie numbers were small. It was still too much for two guys to handle, but a quick glance down at your watch showed you that your back-up would be arriving within the hour.
“While we were up there, I was teaching my kid brother how to ride a bike and he fell off and broke his arm,” you see Lockport looking at you. “I thought my dad was going to kill me. But my brother, he thought he was so cool with his cast.”
“What happened to him? Your brother?” you heard the regret in the man’s voice, as if he knew the answer before the question was even off his tongue.
“He’s gone,” you said, taking a swig to help swallow down the guilt you felt anytime the thought of Sammy came up.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Yeah,” you say, then quietly to yourself you added, “yeah, me, too.”
Then, off in the distance, you hear the squealing of tires and a shotgun’s unmistakable BANG and you can’t help your smile.
“Looks like the cavalry’s here,” you say, hitting Lockport’s leg as you stand, shoving away thoughts of Sammy and what Sammy was now.
“There’s a cavalry?” Lockport ask as he follows.
"Yep," you grin as you grab your bag of food and beer and, on your way out, two packets of Twinkies. You both look outside and watch as a large black Cadillac makes a rather dangerous looking U-turn, side-swiping a pair of Croats as the driver shoots a third in the head.
“Holy shit,” Lockport mutters.
You smile with something akin to pride and, with a quick look around, you unchain the doors and exit the little E-Z mart.
“Tallahassee,” you say when the Cadillac pulls to a stop in front of you, “I’d like you to meet Lockport.”
“What the hell, Lawrence? Always gotta be picking up strays,” the man shakes his head, throws his hands up into the air.
“That’s how we hooked up, isn’t it?” you say back, putting your supplies in the back and motioning for Lockport to get in. He does and you jump into the passenger seat.
Tallahassee looked like he was about to say something but you toss him a Twinkie and it effectively shuts him up.
“Let’s just get out of here, okay?”
“Fine,” Tallahassee grumbles around the Twinkie in his mouth.
You flash a grin at Lockport sitting behind you as Tallahassee speeds away from the gas station and off to the horizon, heading north.
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End.